


Quarantined

by Minky-way (Cardgamesonmotorcycles)



Series: Intravenous [7]
Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Overdose, Psychiatric medication, Suicide Attempt, mental health
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:48:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28813671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cardgamesonmotorcycles/pseuds/Minky-way
Summary: You think you deserve this pain, but you don't________Otherwise known as: Freedom, or the one with the truth
Relationships: Mizuki/Sly Blue (DRAMAtical Murder)
Series: Intravenous [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/344930
Kudos: 9





	Quarantined

When he wakes up, he has no idea where he is, in truth he’s baffled to have woken up at all, looks around distantly and realises he is indoors and no longer on his gross mattress out in the middle of nowhere. The second thing he registers, other than being disappointingly _alive,_ is the intense, deep burning throb of both his forearms, groaning softly as he slowly shifts his arms so he can see them, registering the thick white bandages that wrap them up from wrist to elbow.

Somebody’s done a very thorough job of fixing him up and he’s surprised they bothered, surprised they _managed_. 

His throat burns and he wonders if he’s had his stomach pumped too, it would explain the painful rasp of it when he swallows, there’s an IV trailing from the back of his hand and another bag hanging from the same stand, though he’s not sure what it’s clear contents could be. He groans, loudly, lets his head flop back onto the pillow and supposes it’s just his luck to get saved.

“Guess I won’t be seeing you so soon, huh, Sei?” He says softly, blinks his exhausted eyes and feels his body object to the mere strain of being conscious, lets them slowly close and feels his awareness slowly ebbing away. “I would have liked, to see you again.”

The next time he wakes up the room is darker, night-time he supposes, though the curtains are shut so it’s hard to tell. There are raised voices in the hallway outside. He wonders if this is the hospital, how he got here, who dragged his lifeless body here, what poor doctors had to save him, wonders why they did it.

Then the door flies open and there’s a whirl of movement and he is being _berated_ by his Granny who stands there looking furious with pastel pink hair trailing out of her bun messily, “you _stupid_ boy! Fentanyl? Really, Sly? I knew you were an idiot but honestly, do you have _any_ idea how hard it is to reverse a Fentanyl overdose?”

He blinks at her, stunned by her dishevelled appearance and overwhelmed that he is not only alive, but that his Granny knows and has turned up seemingly to shout at him for trying to kill himself by such a stupid method.

“Not to mention your arms! forty-eight stitches, forty-eight! They’re going to be a huge mess forever, you realise that?”

She pauses and he is entirely unsure what to say in response, swallows against the pain in his throat and croaks, “I wasn’t really thinking about forever.”

She softens, faintly, with an unimpressed huff, takes the seat next to his bed noisily and begins fiddling with his drip stand so she doesn’t have to look at him, stares stonily at the blank wall opposite when relieved it is up to scratch.

“Granny,” he asks softly, feeling suddenly _guilty_ , it’s not an emotion he’d expected to feel and he watches her hold herself rigidly upright and feels so small. “Are you mad at me?”

“Of course I’m mad at you! Your own Granny, a Doctor, and you let yourself get into this state without even coming to me for help. If you were depressed we could have done something about it but, no, you’re always so independent.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” She asks, glares at him with watery blue eyes and her jaw set hard, he’s never seen her so furious, so tightly-wound and disappointed.

He can’t lie to her, not now, so he doesn’t, stares down at the bandages on his arms and thinks of the moment of peace when everything started to slip away, “no. I’m not.”

“And why is that?”

He stares down at himself, hears his breaths puffing out, feels his blood pulsating noisily in his ears, “it didn’t work.”

“No, it didn’t. It almost did.”

“Oh,” he says softly, then, wanting to know how close he got, “almost?”

“Almost,” she says quietly, “but not quite. Are you disappointed?”

“A bit,” he admits, he’s exhausted, he was before he did this to himself, and now after, in the recovery, he’s tired still. He’s not sure if it’s from his brain or his body as it tries weakly to cling onto life he’d never wanted to keep hold of, whatever it is, it’s so draining he wants to go back to sleep again.

“Will you try again?”

“I don’t know,” he doesn’t, he’s not lying, he didn’t try to kill himself for fun, or for something to do, for attention, he’d wanted to die and now that he hasn’t he supposes he might have to come to terms with some things. The idea is terrifying, the rest of his life spreading out in front of him, empty and lonely and _sad_.

“You’ll be discharged in a few days,” her tone is brusque and almost cold and though he knows he deserves it, it still hurts. He didn’t exactly expect her to pull him into her arms and sob, but he didn’t expect this cool distance either. “Are you still living with that boy?”

His throat clogs when she says that and he shakes his head silently, that was not a reminder he needed right now, but then he supposes she didn’t know that, he doesn’t talk to her about anything so how could she know everything that has happened to him? Everything that led to his ending up here.

“Then you’re living with me and I won’t hear any argument,” she glares at him again, like she fully expects objections, but Sly has nowhere else to go now, so he just nods quietly and watches her stand to leave. “We are going to talk about this, like we should have done years ago.”

He’s too tired to argue, mumbles a weak, rather damp little, “okay,” and closes his eyes before he can hear her sigh.

* * *

A nurse comes in to remove his IV, he is going home today, she is quiet but friendly enough, which is baffling beyond belief to Sly given who he is.

He thinks maybe they feel sorry for him, or worse, that they _pity_ him.

Perhaps they are surprised at how subdued and compliant he is, no threat whatsoever, no energy to argue or fight or do anything else they might have expected. Perhaps they don’t consider somebody who tried so very hard to kill himself as a threat to anybody _but_ himself.

“I’ve got your discharge medication.”

“Medication?” Nobody has mentioned that and she helps him stand with soft hands on his arm and back, looks away as he pulls on the clothes his Granny had left, all new with the tags still attached, blacks and greys, a new pair of blue trainers with thick Velcro straps. “What medication?”

“You’ve been getting it via IV but you’ll be on tablets. Antidepressants and the like.”

“The like?” He decides it’s best not to register what she just said, he can’t argue he doesn’t need them and if he’s already been taking them he guesses there’s no point in suddenly stopping, hell, maybe they’ll even work and he’ll feel better. He doubts it, but it might be worth a try.

“One for psychosis, and ones to help you sleep if you need them.”

“You think I’m psychotic?” He laughs weakly, it’s not inaccurate but honestly, it seems like an insult to put him on medication for it, he does questionable things but he doesn’t see or hear things that aren’t there. Not when he’s not drugged up, anyway.

“They’re just to help your mood, if your recovery goes well you’d eventually stop taking them anyway, and if they don’t work we can always increase the dose,” she shrugs, looks not at all bothered by telling him the doctors have deemed him psychotic _and_ depressed. It’s sort of odd, having all these medical titles suddenly dumped upon him, to have a diagnosis of something he’s pretty sure he’s had since birth. He doesn’t know if he finds it reassuring or not. He might be slightly offended.

* * *

His Granny comes to collect him, stands there in the reception looking stern and as solid as she always does, her blue dress pressed neatly and her hair in two short plaits, some wispy strands resting against her wrinkled cheeks.

She hasn’t been to visit him again and he finds he doesn’t know what to say to her, she just holds her hand out silently for the bag of medication and he hands it over and they walk, in awkward silence, to what Sly supposes is now home.

She hovers uncertainly in the doorway to his bedroom, watching him look at it and wonder what she has done to make it look so unfamiliar, everything he’d left here has been tidied away and when he curiously opens the wardrobe he doesn’t recognise anything in there. It’s immaculate, it’s been mopped and swept and the bed made with freshly laundered sheets, there’s a new lamp on the bedside table and a new desk and chair sit under the window.

“You should have everything you need,” she says, bustles in to adjust the curtains just for something to do, sighs once, very softly and turns to look at him as he stands there blankly in this strange room. “Do you need anything else?”

He blinks at her, and thinks about what he needs, scratches at his bandages and stops when she tuts lowly and glares at him. The stitches itch and he knows they won’t take them out for a while yet, won’t even let him see under the bandages when they change them over, “I just want to sleep.”

She sighs again, softer, licks her lips and nods slowly, “alright, I’ll wake you for dinner.”

It’s morning still, he only woke up a few hours ago but already he is exhausted, this room, these new clothes and this fresh start is too much to deal with all at once, he’s been deemed psychotic and prescribed pills and been visited by psychiatrists he refused to talk to.

He’d tried desperately to die and hadn’t even been able to do that.

It’s a lot.

“Don’t,” he says quietly, sitting on the bed where even the mattress feels new and removing his trainers with fingers that tremble very slightly, he hears her sigh again, wonders if she will object but listens to her shuffle away, the door clicking shut behind her.

* * *

“I don’t want to take them,” his voice is small, his body shrunk in on itself, he feels sick and dizzy, the stitches in his arms itch like crazy and his head is pounding with the starts of a nasty headache. The kitchen is too bright and he longs for his dim bedroom and his soft mattress.

She sighs, _again_ , she’s done that a lot since he came back, every time she tried to get him out and bed and he refused, said he wasn’t hungry, didn’t want to shower, was too tired.

“They’ll help,” she says quietly, all their conversations are like that lately, as if any one of them speaking too loud will break this uneasy truce they have and they’ll descend into screaming. Sly almost thinks he would prefer that, but he doesn’t have the energy to yell. “Sly, they’ll _help_ you.”

He doesn’t respond, chews on his bottom lip and stares at his slowly hardening toast, picks at one corner until it crumbles all over the tabletop, wonders what he should say and looks up to see her sat opposite, her head in her hands. She looks old, and tired. She looks weary.

He hates knowing it’s his fault she looks so defeated, doesn’t know what she wants from him in general, but for once, knows what she wants in the moment, so he reaches reluctantly forwards and puts his fingers on the pills that sit on the table in front of her.

He rolls them around in his palm, three small oval tablets in two different sizes, all white, scored in the middle and marked with letters he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know what they’re called ,how they’re meant to work, but he gets the general idea, they will lift his mood, stabilise it. “I don’t believe you,” he says as he reaches for his water and tips them back into his throat, washes them down in one easy swallow and wonders if he is supposed to feel better already.

“At least you’re trying,” she smiles, and it is the closest thing to praise he has heard in such a long time, the nicest thing she’s said to him in a while, so when she reaches across the table to hold his hand he lets her, but he can’t meet her eye.

* * *

“You’ve got a visitor,” his Granny says without preamble and Sly blinks at her distantly, whatever is in these tablets is turning his brain to mush and he’s fairly sure his head is packed with cotton wool and little else, not fully registering what she’s saying. It’s only been a week, and his Granny had assured him he’d get used to it. He still doesn’t believe her and sits there hoping the guest isn’t one of her elderly friends, struggles to work out who else it could possibly be. Maybe it’s a doctor, a therapist. God, he hopes not.

But then Noiz walks in looking uncertain and faintly out of place in his Granny’s old-fashioned living room, glances around absently and quirks an amused smile at her collection of wall-mounted plates. “Yo,” he greets calmly, sitting down beside him and watching as he slowly turns his gaze onto him, feeling sluggish and lethargic.

“Hi,” he replies, is not really sure what he’s meant to say, what he’s expected to say, what he would have said before all these drugs scrambled his brain and made him so _docile_.

“Heard you tried to take the easy out,” he says calmly, there is clattering from the kitchen and Sly wonders if he is staying for dinner, wonders how weird that would be, him, his Granny and his one friend sharing a meal.

“Didn’t work,” he replies, feels a faint trace of his old self come back and smiles darkly, shrugging a shoulder as if mildly inconvenienced by the whole thing.

Noiz laughs, an amused little snort, “shame.”

“Not really,” he says, surprises himself even though he knows Noiz is joking, he wouldn’t have made the effort to come and see him if he hadn’t been at least a little worried. Sly can see it in his face, expression impassive but green eyes tracking over his body, down to his wrapped up arms and scanning over the bags under his eyes, the pale pallor of his skin.

“Changed your mind?”

“Not sure yet,” he says, then, “you got any cigs?”

Noiz looks amused and unsurprised but nods, “obviously, your Granny won’t let you?”

“I’m not allowed out, not yet, she won’t buy me any,” Noiz looks confused but doesn’t bother to ask why he’s on apparent house arrest, Sly thinks it makes perfect sense even if it is overkill, he just stands up and waves Noiz out to the front porch.

“So,” Noiz begins carefully, unlike himself, “what are you going to do about Mizuki?”

He feels faint, distant anger flare at his words, can’t quite grasp it the way he used to, it’s too fleeting a feeling and his words when he speaks are so blank it’s like he never felt angry at all, “What do you mean, what am I gunna do? I’m gunna do fuck all.”

“Oh,” he says blankly, hands Sly the lighter he gestures for impatiently. “I just thought, you know, you didn’t die, so, you’ve got a second chance.”

“Think Mizuki gave me my second chance about a week after I met him,” he says, laughs, feels a pang in his chest when he thinks about him, something he usually tries not to do. “I’m going to leave him alone, like he asked me to.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, takes a deep drag of cigarette and grimaces at how incredibly strong it tastes after so long without one, shifts from one foot to the other and thinks that his pants are getting tight, he’s growing out of them. It renders him startled for a moment, that his clothes are too small, that he is getting bigger, gaining weight. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but somehow it is and he pulls at the sleeves of his hoodie and frowns down at his legs as if expecting to see the usual malnourished twigs he’s managed on for so long. He struggles to recognise himself sometimes, catches a glimpse of his profile with his longer hair and the bandages up his arms and thinks somebody else is looking back, he blames the medications he swallows down each morning with breakfast.

“Suit yourself,” he says, seemingly content with his answer, looks down at his coil and frowns. “Got a job due, you should come round when your Granny lets you out, haven’t had a good Mario Kart partner in a while.”

“Sure,” he nods, watches him shrug down into his jacket and leave with a raised hand of farewell, blending easily into the quiet streets that lead to town where the hustle and bustle is.

He doesn’t know if he expected more from his visit, he doesn’t know if his Granny expected more. It’s nice that he came to see him, she says over dinner, he must have been very worried. He seemed a nice boy.

Sly wonders what she’d say if she told her his age, told her they were fucking for a bit, if he told her what he does for a living, told her Noiz sometimes bought him drugs and sat with him while he got fucked up.

He wonders, but he doesn’t say any of it, just nods as if in approval and goes back to his stew.

* * *

Sly isn’t used to the quiet, Aoyagi Street is silent at almost all times of day and his Granny is out often, working or grocery shopping or seeing friends, Sly is most often alone in the large, empty house, wandering it’s halls like a ghost. It’s not like when he used to live in the warehouses outside of town, there was always noise there, cats fighting, or people, music coming from the bars and clubs, drunk people passing by. Here it is so deathly quiet sometimes he thinks he can hear his heart beating, sending blood around his body in a constant, rhythmic cycle that never begins nor ends, just goes on forever and ever.

He’s not good at filling the time, he still can’t focus properly, a side-effect of the medication, apparently, tunes out when he turns on the TV and was never good enough at reading for it to even be an idea. There’s not even anything that needs to be done, Granny cooks all the meals and does the cleaning and washes his clothes, it’s a well maintained house and on some days he almost wishes she’d leave a mess just so he’d have something to do.

He’s not used to the silence, but then he doesn’t want noise either, music gives him a headache and he finds the voices on the TV annoying, unable to follow the plot of even the trashiest mid-day drama. He does an awful lot of _nothing_ , wanders around the house looking at things and aimlessly searching for a task, for something of interest, something to _do_.

He doesn’t go into Sei’s room, neither of them do and they keep the door firmly closed.

They don’t talk about things either, she makes sure he takes his medications, watches him eat his meals and asks him to report side-effects in a tone that is almost clinical. It’s not like Sly _wants_ to talk, but the silence they exist within is starting to make him boil out of his skin. He needs _something_ and after a couple of weeks he says so.

She comes back from town with a selection of arts and crafts supplies, which make him snort in wry amusement, and two adult colouring books that he begrudgingly thanks her for.

So that’s how he spends his days, breakfast together and his medication swallowed down, lunch is left in the fridge for him under cling-film and he sometimes sits and colours for a while, or does his aimless wandering around the house. He could go out, she’d never know, but he sits on his balcony and looks out over the island and he doesn’t want to.

He’s not sure he wants to go anywhere ever again.

He thinks of the way he used to be, free and wild, climbing buildings to get the best view, to sit like a king above everybody else on the Island, picking fights and laughing with Noiz in the streets. Thinks of his old haunts, Mizuki’s apartment, Grime, his warehouse, that one corner store with the owner with poor eyesight; his favourite shoplifting destination.

He thinks about it all, and is surprised to realise he doesn’t miss any of it, doesn’t miss any of his old acquaintances at all, even Noiz, who ducks in occasionally and stays for a little while, he doesn’t even miss him, doesn’t look forward to their visits.

His Granny is worried about him, he knows that, but he doesn’t know what he is supposed to be doing now, he’s not sure who he’s meant to be, how he’s meant to act, how he’s meant to go back to normal like none of this ever happened.

She sits opposite him at dinner and sighs and tuts and makes comments about his progress and he just sits there and he doesn’t _care_.

* * *

Three weeks later and he's finally allowed out, his medication seems to have stopped bothering him quite so much and his mood is stable, that's how his Granny described it anyway. She tells him to be careful in a way that suggests she knows exactly how stupid he could be with this new found freedom and kisses his forehead. She stinks of antiseptic liquid and old tea leaves and he almost winces away but manages not to. 

It's strange being out, more so being in unfamiliar clothes, a pair of loose sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt, nothing like what he used to wear, things his Granny had gifted to him for some reason he doesn't fully understand. He mourns the loss of his favourite hoodie for a while, though he's sure it was coated in blood when they found him and he doubts it would wash off. Before all this he would still have worn it, blood stains and all, but now the idea makes his stomach churn and he discards the memory of it in favour of soft cotton and elasticated waistbands where he doesn't need to tie the strings. 

He heads to Noiz's because there isn't really anywhere else to go, drinking on his medication is apparently a terrible idea and he doesn't much want to end up vomiting all over himself or the streets. He also doesn't want to counteract the anti-depressants he swallows every morning and render them useless, he feels okay, a bit foggy, a bit unlike himself, but not unhappy. He feels _stable_ , possibly for the first time in his life and he isn't sure quite how he will react if he does something to plunge himself back into that dark place. He's spent a long time crawling out of it, to dive right back in would be stupid, it would undo all his work and all his Granny's work and after everything he's put her through that doesn't seem fair. 

Noiz seems unsurprised to see him, just opens the door and pads silently over to his couch like he always used to. Something feels different though, Sly ditches his trainers and joins him and looks around absently, something in the room unfamiliar and unsettling, like he’s never been here before even though he knows he has.

"Mario Kart?" Noiz asks, rough and brusque, handing him a controller and starting up the console without waiting for his answer, as if he knew already what it would be. 

"Yeah, alright," he agrees, quietly, he is very quiet these days, he knows it bothers his Granny but reasons she must prefer that to screaming and throwing fits and breaking things. He doesn't think Noiz has noticed anything out of the ordinary, at least not until he comments on it. 

He orders pizza, because of course he does, and Sly eats two slices then starts to feel sick, his appetite is all over the place, he is either ravenous or sickened by the mere smell of food. Today seems to be the latter but he forces himself through two greasy slices and feels the crust stick in his back teeth.

"You're quiet," Noiz remarks in that casual way he says everything, showing concern and sounding utterly uncaring at the same time, a certain detachment to his words. "Something happened." 

Sly shakes his head, nothing has happened, nothing in _weeks_. Nothing has happened to him for days and days and he wonders when that became normal, when the last time was he didn't have a drink or take something illicit or head to a club for some ill-advised sex with a stranger who was always a touch too rough.

Noiz's green eyes narrow and Sly feels pinned under his gaze, like a fly trapped in amber, wants to escape from that intense stare and be back at his Granny's where nobody looks at him with any emotion. "You on drugs?" 

He laughs because that is _funny_ , he's never been less on drugs and more on drugs at the same time, he's never taken the same thing every day for so long, and never not taken something illegal for so long either. 

"Yeah, aren't I always?" 

"I don't mean like that," he brushes off his joke quickly and Sly feels his smile fade very, very fast, slipping off his face and looking over at Noiz with the growing sensation of being _vulnerable_. "What did they put you on? It's like you're not you any more." 

"What, you don't like me now?" He's still trying to joke but there is thick bile spreading up his throat and he can feel the heavy stodge of pizza dough and stringy cheese trying to rise back up and out. He knows he is not himself, hates what the medication has turned him into, hates that he doesn't know who he is without the anger and the hate inside him. 

He can't even recognise himself any more, well fed, clean, nearly presented, hair always tied back now, a long line down his unmarked back, trailing over one well-padded collarbone. He has a home, a bedroom of his own, he has possessions, things that are his and his alone. He even smells the same these days, there is no more using somebody else's shower and never knowing what scents will mark his body, he always smells the same, coconut shampoo and body wash. His Granny's choice, they remind him of Sei and the link doesn't hurt as much as it should. 

Noiz snorts as if amused, nudges his foot in a friendly manner, "of course I like you, you loser. But seriously, what have they got you on?" 

Sly swallows, licks his lip, always dry still, always chapped, a side effect. His Granny dumped a lip-balm on him a few days ago but he left it at home. "Antidepressants, anti-psychotics, something to help me sleep." 

"So you're psychotic now? Nice," now is Sly's turn to snort, though it is not fully amused. He does not want to be medically deemed _psychotic_ , he doesn't want to be medically deemed _depressed_ either but he's stuck with the labels now. "Is that why you're so," he waves a hand absently, unable to elaborate on his point. 

"Guess so," he shrugs, plays with a pizza crust he couldn't stand to finish, the crunching was too loud, too visceral in his head, noisy in amongst the constant static fuzz that lingers there and never ends. 

Noiz doesn't answer, he seems to be done with the food and the conversation, shoves the pizza box across the floor with one foot and proffers the controller again, flicking to a menu screen and not looking at Sly as he waits for him to take it. 

He doesn't. He feels suddenly tired even though he lies awake most nights when he doesn't take his sleeping pills, he can't become dependent on them, his Granny had said, chooses when he takes them and when he doesn't. _Controls_ them. 

"Sly?" Noiz asks, and now he looks like he might actually be concerned, it's odd, seeing such a blatant expression on his usually blank face, seeing his eyes narrow faintly and a crease appear between his eyebrows. Sly reaches over to smooth it out without thinking and it just gets deeper, "you're weird today." 

"I'm weird everyday," he says without humour, looks over at Noiz who has so easily accepted how things are now, who has asked questions he hated answering but which didn't seem to bother him at all. "I'm tired." 

Noiz looks confused, "okay? So go for a nap, you know where the bedroom is." 

Sly stares at him, because he does, he knows exactly where the bedroom is and he knows how Noiz's body feels above his and how he kisses, always rough and messy like he hasn't done a lot of it. He thinks he could kiss him now, tempt him into bed and lay under him and nothing would be said about it after, they'd just lie there and maybe have a cigarette and Noiz would say something that isn't funny and Sly would laugh anyway. 

"Yeah," he says instead, "I have to be back for six, wake me up?" 

"Sure," he responds, waves him away and turns back to the console alone, changes the settings. The sound of Rainbow Road follows Sly to his bedroom where he flops, face first into sheets that smell of Noiz and shuts his eyes against the sudden pounding in his head. 

* * *

"You went to see your friend?" 

He doesn't speak, just hums in agreement and focuses on the plate he's washing, watching with distant eyes as red sauce disappears down the plughole and into the sewers. 

She sounds uncomfortable, but then of course she does, she barely knows him and he sure as hell doesn't know himself, "good time?" 

"Yeah," he says shortly, and she makes an unhappy grumble but leaves him alone, but then something occurs to him and he drops the plate with a noisy clank and a surge of guilt that it took him this long to think of it, to remember. "Where's Ren?" 

She hesitates, half-way back into the living room, back straight as if she's about to give him bad news, she doesn't turn, "he's with your friend, he didn't tell you?" 

He doesn't bother to answer that, and he has no idea what she reads in his silence. He thinks perhaps he should be angry, but he just stares at the sink, rinses off the last plate and says, shortly, "I'm going out." 

"Are you coming back?" 

"Yeah, don't wait up," she rolls her eyes, as if she'd ever bother doing that, making sure he came home safe, she knows how foolish he can be and she has no intention of cleaning up his messes if he decides to make them. She generally leaves him to his own devices and that would be fine if she didn't make it seem so much like she doesn't _care_. 

* * *

He’s nervous, on the way back to Noiz’s, he’s not sure why, maybe because it’s later now and the streets are dark, filled with a different sort of person, people who might know him, who might offer him things he’s not sure he can refuse. He pulls his hood down low over his forehead and carries on swiftly, not looking up and avoiding people whenever he sees them, taking the main streets even though they are busier.

It’s not a long walk to Noiz’s but he’s out of breath as he climbs the stairs and if it wasn’t for the fact that he knows Ren is up there, has been kept hidden from him he would probably turn back or stop for a break. As it is, he pushes on as his infrequently used muscles burn and his chest aches painfully.

“Sly,” he actually look surprised, though not displeased, blocking him from seeing the apartment beyond with his body, intentionally or not. “Back so soon?”

"You've got Ren," he says sharply, elbowing his way past him, stunned by how different his apartment looks only a few hours after he left, there are electronic supplies all over the coffee table and spilling onto the floor, at least eight screens bathe the room in sickly green and blue light. He's been working, that much is obvious, and though Sly scans the room somewhat frantically, feeling his heart-rate pick up with nerves, he cannot see Ren anywhere. "You didn't feel like mentioning that?" 

Noiz looks at him with his head cocked to the side, doesn't comment on the anger seeping out with his words, with the emotion he has suddenly managed to show. "He wasn't working right, after he got covered in blood," he says flatly and Sly's breath hitches, "I had to fix him first." 

"So he's fixed now?" 

Noiz shrugs, "sure." 

"Well I want him back," his teeth are clenched and a shrill, high buzzing has started in between his ears, it makes his head pound and he feels suddenly really sick. "Now." 

"Okay," he says, turns and walks away, uncaring if Sly chooses to follow or not, padding across thick carpet to a room Sly has never been into. "I just finished working on him after you left, he should be back to normal. Had to take him apart and completely rebuild him." 

Sly nods even though Noiz can't see him, he feels a little bit like that's what needs doing to him, he needs taking apart piece by piece and putting back together, he's like a jigsaw with too many pieces in the wrong place. 

"I didn't intend to steal him," he offers as if it costs nothing, this half-apology he gives as he opens a drawer and Sly sees Ren, his constant companion, for the first time in weeks. The familiar tone of him starting up makes his throat tight and he steps forwards as if uncertain, taking him from Noiz's offering hands, sees the silent placation in his eyes. He's sorry, in his own way, for keeping him away, for not letting Sly know, for putting his hands on something so precious. Still, he fixed him when he didn't need to, when he wasn't asked and Sly is grateful. 

"Sly," Ren's stupid deep voice greets, robotic and familiar as always and Sly sinks down onto the floor a little unsteadily, stares at the Allmate in his hands and feels something in him crack open. "Your serotonin levels are higher than normal, your heart rate is slightly elevated, you have gained 10% of your previous body weight." 

Sly laughs, damply, sees Noiz's legs shifting uncertainly where he remains standing, watching with those green eyes that see more than they should, "I missed you too." 

"It has been a long time," Ren says, and doesn't elaborate, doesn't offer some electronically calculated number of days or weeks or hours, just leaves it at that, like a sentiment he shouldn't be able to express. 

Sly smiles, feels some awful coiled thing in his chest loosen and release and gathers Ren up into his arms, watches his pink tongue loll out and hugs him close to his shoulder. He feels like he wants to cry but he can't, he just holds him and feels very small, very fragile. This is one part of his old life that he couldn't stand to lose and it feels so good to have him back, his little furry conscience, the one who always got him out of trouble and looked after him when he had nobody else. 

"Thank you, Noiz," he offers after a little while of silence. That seems to be his cue to join them on the ground, reaching out to rub Ren's ears, mouth twitching when he presses his head into his touch as if welcoming it. 

"No biggie," he says, "he's an older model, wanted to know how he worked anyway." 

Sly can tell he's uncomfortable with the thanks but doesn't bother to look for the embarrassed blush he knows is there, just leans over slightly so their sides are pressed together. Noiz stiffens, just for a second, but he's always been an unintentionally tactile person and after a minute he just slings an arm around his back casually, squeezing at his side clumsily. 

This, Sly thinks, is rather nice, his headache has faded away now and with Ren in his arms and Noiz at his side he feels pleasantly hemmed in, protected from both sides. Opens his mouth and says something he didn't truly intend to, "shame I never fell in love with you, huh?" 

There's silence for a moment, Ren cocks his head as if considering this, then Noiz laughs, genuine and warm, eyes crinkling at the corners. Sly stares, unsure he's ever seen him look like this before, never seen him show so much. 

"Couldn't have handled you anyway," he says, doesn't comment on the idea that Sly wouldn't mind falling in love with him, doesn't say how he feels about that. Sly knows anyway, it would have been too convenient for both of them, and things are never quite that easy. He could have had a good life with Noiz, easy, simple. Noiz, despite what he says, can handle him perfectly well, and he can handle Noiz right back. Just a shame nothing in life ever comes easily, not to him, at least. 

"Do you have my coil too?" He enquires after a bit more comfortable silence, sitting huddled together on the floor of what Sly assumes is meant to be an office, fussing Ren who watches silently, probably running some kind of scan, checking his vital signs. 

He grunts approval and shifts away to open yet another drawer, "had to change the strap, old one wouldn't come clean," a rag falls out of the drawer with it and there's deep red streaked all over it. Blood, _his_ , blood, and a lot of it. Sly's breath halts for a second but Noiz throws it away, out of sight like it doesn’t bother him at all and his lungs can fill again. 

Blood never used to bother him, whether it was his own or somebody else's, but now it makes something in his chest twist and when he sees it he stares and stares and _stares_. He clears his throat, "how did you get them?" 

"Your Granny," he says shortly, "she knew you'd want them." 

"Oh," he says, flatly, confused as to how she knew where to go, knew _who_ to go to. He thinks maybe she didn't know they were friends, just went to somebody known for fixing things and handed them over. Maybe she didn't know until Noiz turned up at the door of her house proclaiming their friendship, a desire to see him. ”Did she pay you?”

“She offered, but I said no, rare model and all that. I’m surprised it took you this long to ask where he was,” Noiz isn’t trying to hit a nerve, but he does and Sly stiffens under his touch so abruptly his hand drops away altogether and ends up awkwardly in between them, fingers curling into the carpet.

“I forgot,” he says, very, very softly, and Ren's head tilts to the side at his words, just looks at Sly as he admits he forgot all about him.

“What?”

“I forgot about him,” he says, again, a touch louder, his voice is brittle and Ren nudges at him as if accepting an apology he has not yet made, curling into his lap and pushing his head into his stomach as if asking to be petted. Sly complies automatically but his throat is tight and his chest hurts and his vision has gone horribly, inexplicably blurry, “he’s the one person who’s been with me through, _everything_ , and I forgot about him.”

“You had, other things, to think about,” Noiz offers slowly, hesitantly, he is not good with words at the best of times and with Sly sat next to him, crying, voice breaking, he’s severely out of his depth.

“Like what? My ex-boyfriend who hates me and my dead brother? Because that’s not what I’ve been thinking about, I haven’t thought about them at all, not since before the hospital, before I did a shitty job at killing myself. I haven’t thought about anything but _myself_.”

Noiz looks at him, really _looks_ , sits there quiet and looks at him as he cries and crinkles his brow and says, “maybe you needed to think about yourself for once.”

Sly can’t find anything clever to say to that.

**Author's Note:**

> Character Designs, updates, ficart and other things of interest- [here](http://minky-way.tumblr.com/tagged/intravenous-series)  
> [Sly's tumblr](http://early-morning-apathy.tumblr.com)  
> 


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